


and then there is you

by returntosaturn



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: A little angst, Happy Ending, M/M, a little sad, alternate proposal, if patirkc didn't propose at the picnic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21813121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returntosaturn/pseuds/returntosaturn
Summary: “I think maybe we should...sit.”“Sure.”// if Patrick didn't propose at the picnic, and David knows it. Happy ending, I promise.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer & David Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 29
Kudos: 457





	and then there is you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oh_la_fraise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_la_fraise/gifts).



> Dang, I struggled with this for a looonnngg time and then it just came around and I'm really happy with it. I really wanted to tie all the themes together, because yeah I'm pretentious enough to think my work has themes to explore, but I really wanted this to feel bigger than Patrick and David. I think it does, and I think definitely works the way I wanted. Enjoy peoples!
> 
> Idea by/inspired by: oh_la_fraise

It’s a good thing there’s a breeze. It isn’t as if Patrick is particularly heavy—in fact, carrying an entire human on his back isn’t as awful as he’d anticipated, but maybe it's the cheese calling. It’s just this second stupid backpack he’s got strapped to his chest that’s threatening to topple him over. When he can finally let Patrick slide his way onto a nearby boulder and dump the bag, he feels a little less off kilter, only now he’s sweating.

He fans his face and looks out over the view. It’s actually really pretty.

Patrick sulks on his rock, staring down the path they’d come from, off into the trees.

“This is nice,” David pipes up in an attempt to break the tension.

Patrick blinks up at him, elbows on his knees, fingers worrying together. “I wouldn’t have made you hike all this way if I didn’t think it was going to be worth it. I know you a little better than that.”

He tries to give a laugh but it just comes off pensive.

Something’s up. 

David watches him for a moment, but Patrick won’t meet his eyes, hasn’t so much as glanced at the wide, green expanse he’s talked up all day and they’ve hiked probably five miles to get to.

“So how do I set up the picnic?” he tries.

Patrick shrugs a shoulder. “You know what, David, lets just take in the view for a minute and head back. Save the picnic for another day.”

It’s a little sharp.

His sweater is itching and its too hot and humid. The entire day has been a disaster and Patrick doesn’t usually brood like this.

“Just tell me what to do and I’ll set it all up,” he insists at the risk of pushing everything over the edge.

Patrick sighs and shrugs again. “Okay. Fine. There’s a blanket in that bag. You can take it out and lay it down.”

He does so, throwing a little breeze up when he fans it out, squaring off the corners and giving it a little pat once it’s perfect.

“Ok?” He prompts Patrick for the next thing. 

“In that bag there’s a bundle of crackers and cheese.”

David fishes through the bag, hand hitting something hard and cool first. Definitely not cheese but probably better.

His spirits perk up immediately when he catches sight of the label.

“Um? Excusez-moi?” David grins cheekily, brandishing the bottle he’s just pulled from the backpack.

“And champagne,” Patrick confirms. 

“Wow, this is so nice,” he says, hoping Patrick knows he’s truly touched by all this. Maybe he was a little bratty on the way up, but wasn’t he always? He hadn’t meant to hurt Patrick’s feelings. And maybe he was a little over-dramatic in insisting Patrick be carried the rest of the way, but he was limping and there was the promise of cheese that Patrick had been so sweet to pack and put together. He couldn’t let that go to waste—the cheese or the romantic gesture.

“What else?” he says, setting the cheese next to the champagne.

Patrick shifts from his spot to sit cross legged on the blanket, avoiding his bad foot. He reaches for the cheese and works at unwrapping it.

“There’s plastic cups and strawberries in that bag.” He points, and then pauses, looks a little weary all over again. “And...that’s everything.” 

“You sure?” David teases, trying to keep it light. “No other surprises? No cute little crudités, no giant cookies?”

Patrick, even though it’s a little strained, gives a smile. “No, that’s all.”

“Did you bring a knife for the cheese?”

“Oh.” Patrick sighs and he shakes his head at himself. “That would be helpful, wouldn’t it? Sorry. It’s...wrapped in a napkin in one of the side pockets.”

“Side pocket…” David whispers to himself, going to check. 

“Uh, the other bag. There’s really nothing else in the red one.” 

When David looks over at him, there’s something sad in his expression. Different than disappointment at a romantic hike interrupted. Almost...nerves. Almost disappointment.

He finds the cheese knife right where Patrick said, but something stops him.

He watches for a moment, making sure Patrick’s preoccupied before he reaches to tug the red bag over once more.

“Oops. Zipper’s stuck…” he murmurs loud enough to be heard while frisking the bag for any telltale signs. 

He said there was nothing. It was definitely something.

He unzips the front pocket and catches the unmistakable sight of black velvet. 

His heart jumps to his throat.

Its too big for a ring, but black velvet always means something important.

With a cursory glance back up to Patrick, who’s taking his time pulling the cheese from the wrapper, he takes the opportunity to open the lid of the box without totally pulling it from the pocket.

Four shining gold rings gleam back up at him. Not just one. Four. 

Against his better judgement, he smiles openly, looks down at the ever-present silver rings on his right hand and blinks mistily back up at Patrick, still setting up the spread.

“Did you find it?”

“Oh. Um…hold on just a sec.” His voice trembles and his hands shake as he hurries to put away the slim little box, just like it was. The zipper catches when he tries to close it and he panics just a little, yanking at it until it goes without further protest.

“Yeah. Found it.” He waves the cheese knife helpfully. “Um...do you...did you want to pop the...um, the...the champagne?”

Patrick’s chin snaps up as David picks his way back over the backpacks and onto the blanket. 

“Oh. Uh. Yeah, sure.”

He opens the bottle simply and quietly, without dramatics, and pours their glasses. David can see the effort he’s putting into looking more amiable. They have a few bites, looking out over the view, and it isn’t exactly tense, but it isn’t exactly Notting Hill.

It isn’t  _ proposal  _ vibes. 

“I realize all this didn’t go as you might’ve planned,” David says after a while, heart still lodged high in his chest. “But that shouldn’t stop us from...having a nice time, right?”

Patrick nods and tries a smile. “Sure.”

David chews his lip. 

The weather’s nice. There’s a cool breeze and the view is actually really pretty. Just another thing to add to the list of things he's underestimated about this town. 

“This is really nice,” he says, heartfelt, looking up at his partner. His partner...in so many ways. “I’m glad you brought me here.”

He touches their plastic cups together. Without the usual clink, it makes them both laugh softly.

“I used to come up here a lot when I first moved here,” Patrick says, and David reaches to squeeze his knee for encouragement.

“Its a great place to think, to clear your head. I thought a lot about you, actually.”

The butterflies in David’s stomach take that as their cue, and he grins tearily.

“I thought about us. About how much I...wanted to tell you how I felt but wasn’t sure I could. And now here we are.”

Patrick seems to choke up, go quiet. He looks away.

“That’s...very sweet,” David says breathlessly. 

It was almost a pre-proposal speech. It could’ve been, if he just kept going and didn’t look so...what would Mom say?...melancholy? But the rings are all the way on the other side of the blanket, still tucked away in their hiding spot, and Patrick stays put.

So maybe he’s wrong?

Was it not happening?

So then what  _ was  _ happening?

He clears his throat and moves to rest his head against Patrick’s shoulder. If it was a bad idea, well then at least the day would end with a nice memory. And at least at this angle, he could hide the worry in his face.

At least he could be close to him a little while longer in ignorance.

When the sun starts to shift towards late afternoon, Patrick suggests they go back. 

The walk is quiet, and if either of them were to ask, they’d both make the excuse of just being tired.

The bags get packed away in the trunk. 

Patrick reaches for his hand over the console of the car, and he lets him. 

It’s the one thing that grounds his thoughts.

-

That evening, the motel is starkly quiet. Half the town is at the dress rehearsal, including fifty percent of his family, and he has no clue about the last twenty five.

The room is black.

He’s got the blankets up to his chin, a sprinkling of chocolate wrappers over the bedspread.

Had his attitude and the mishap with the stick really been enough to make Patrick chicken out? 

Guilt twists his stomach. 

He’d been too much. 

He’d whinged and whined all morning, belittled Patrick’s ideas, and the run in with the stick had been the last straw.

He should’ve caught on sooner. 

He was always pushing too far.

No wonder Patrick had second thoughts.

There’s a knock at the door dividing the rooms, then a beat of silence.

“David?” his dad’s voice calls.

He glares into the darkness.

“Noooooo,” he yells back, with the same inflection in his voice one might use to say ‘what is it?’ He pulls the covers closer.

“Ah...Your mom and your sister are at the theatre.” He says it like this theatre is actually a place of high integrity, not the spot for Elvis impersonators and wooden productions of  _ Moon Over Buffalo _ . “I was going to go over to the cafe. Wondering if you’d like to tag along.”

He waits, then groans and flings back the blankets, candy wrappers flying like confetti.

In the darkness, he fumbles with the doorknob. The light from his parent’s room cuts his sanctum like a spotlight when he finally yanks the door open. He shields his eyes.

“I haven’t  _ tagged along  _ with you to...anywhere. Ever.”

His dad nods solemnly, hands in the pockets of his trousers. “Right. So I thought it would be nice. Have a...boys night out.”

“Please don’t ever say that again.”

His dad bristles just a little, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“It’s lasagna night,” he says.

David had heard his whole life that he was the spitting image of his father. The thought that he’d age just the same as him too used to terrify him. Now, just for a second, he can see how much gray has overrun his hair in just five years. New wrinkles under his eyes. How his suit fit a little more snugly (but that might’ve been the cafe’s meatloaf). 

He was changing. Maybe they all kind of were.

“Mm...as tempting as that sounds I’m kinda…” David waves into the dark cavern of his room. “Dealing with something right now.”

“I see.” He nods. “So you’re content to be holed up in your room with a dinner of exotic chocolate?”

David presses his lips together. He hates it how people seem to know him so well these days.

“It isn’t exotic, it’s Three Musketeers,” he mumbles indignantly. “It was the only thing I could find in the lobby.”

His dad just stands there, appraising and nodding knowingly.

David shakes his head, rolls his eyes. “Ok I’m coming.”

-

Thoughts of Patrick aren’t even escapable in the car.

He’s misty behind his sunglasses, throat tight and aching because now he’s sitting right beside someone who would actually care to listen if he had the courage to just speak up.

He silently spirals, wondering if Patrick’s planning to call him after the dress rehearsal to deliver the final blow, or if Cabaret is a convenient excuse to just blow him off altogether. He was used to ghosting. And then bumping into that person on the subway or at a party or a gallery and hearing ‘oops I’ve just been so swamped.’ He thinks he’d prefer that now, but he knows it isn’t true.

Because then it had been easy to blow off. Easy to just let it calcify. Now, he’s just wondering why.

Now he just kind of...hurts.

“Can I tell you something?” his dad says, as if he can sense David’s thoughts, keeping his eyes on the road.

David glances over, pulls off his sunglasses and hooks them over the neck of his sweater.

In the intermittent glow of passing streetlights, his dad doesn’t look so different than he did when David was twelve and begging to come home early from summer camp.

“Something really crazy? I like it here. I have for quite awhile.”

David is quiet, staring out over the dark road ahead.

“The worst thing that ever happened to us actually turned out to be the best.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it the  _ best,  _ but there have been some...choice sentimental moments.”

“Puts everything into perspective, you know? How life can seem so...secure and stable and then suddenly.” His dad makes a gesture like tossing a baseball. “Poof.”

David feels his sinuses burn with the threat of tears. 

“Yeah. Poof.”

“I think it helped us all to see what was really important. Stevie’s practically a member of the family now and then there’s Ted and Alexis, and you and Patrick. It’s wonderful to see. It’s really all a father could ask that his kids live happy lives.”

“Well…” he chokes, and his voice is quiet and tight. It sounds like New York. “I hope I can live up to your expectations.”

The car jolts and gives a grinding noise when his dad shifts it to park at the cafe.

David takes a breath. Decides.

“Dad…”

Johnny pauses, door half open.

David bites his lip until he trusts himself to speak. “Sometimes, I’m just so scared…” He gestures wide. “That all of this is going to go away too.”

His dad smiles, reaches over and grasps his shoulder.

“Not this, son. This is something no one can take.”

-

Cabaret shocks literally everyone.

Its unexpectedly brilliant and he knows his mother couldn’t be prouder.

He’s truly floored, along with everyone else, but there’s just a small amount of pretense.

He’s drug himself out of bed and put on a smile.

Really, no one’s noticed. He hasn’t even worked out what he should say. If he should say anything at all.

_ I know what your plans were for the hike… _

_ I saw what was in the backpack… _

_ I understand if you don’t… _

_ I’m sorry I couldn’t be... _

The weight of it sits on his mind the entire evening. He doesn’t go see him backstage beforehand, because he doesn’t trust himself not to burst into tears, and no one needs that. He tries not to let it sour the performance, and truly, it doesn’t. They’re spectacular. He pushes it aside enough to clap and cry and cheer. For them. 

An impromptu cast party is called at the diner. Twyla, who hasn’t bothered to remove her stage makeup, mans the counter.

Someone slips a twenty into the jukebox and is playing a steady stream of 90s pop. He should be feeling it, but instead he feels like he’ll fall over the edge at any moment.

“You were really  _ really _ great tonight,” he says, clinking his glass to Patrick’s and giving a heartfelt smile. Because if this is ending soon, at least Patrick deserves to know that it was all genuine. Every bit. 

“Thanks babe,” he returns easily, stops. His eyes hold David’s for a moment.

“Do you...wanna get something to go and head to my place? Just somewhere a little...quieter.”

There’s nothing suggestive in his tone. If anything, Patrick looks cautious. Its that same look from the hike. David’s stomach churns, without the aid of Cafe Tropical’s world class cuisine.

“Ok,” he says evenly. Nods. “That’s fine.”

It's happening.

“I’ll put your order in with Twyla.”

“Sure. I, um…” Panic flashes, sudden and hot in the pit of his stomach. He squares his shoulders. He can do this. “Sliders? Everything on them is fine. Two things of french fries.”

“Sure.” Patrick’s hand grips his elbow, a thumb brushing the back of his arm before he passes. David turns his face, not trusting his expression.

Its too early to let it out now. There’s still a long night ahead of him.

He spots Stevie at the bar with his mom. Thankfully, the latter is distracted by Dad by the time he approaches. Facing either of them is something he definitely couldn’t handle right now.

Stevie, still wearing the residuals of her stage makeup, outright glowing like she never has, greets him with a smile.

He’s honestly so proud of what she’s done tonight. Almost proud enough to smile back.

“Um. We’re leaving,” he says, a lump rising in his throat, which he hopes he clears away without too much suspicion. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I have to work.”

“M’kay. Keep your phone on you, please.”

“David, is everything…”

“I’m gonna text you later. Probably,” he manages stoically, cryptically enough, and turns away.

Alexis is standing with the other chorus girls, on the fringes, a little subdued but balancing a pink umbrellaed drink. He catches her eye as he passes through, back to Patrick. 

Back in the day, they had this code. He was always there to rescue her, hold her hair, ride with her in the cab home, send her temporary passports without question or explanation. Now, as Patrick closes the passenger door to his Toyota after him, and the atmosphere in the car goes thin, he hopes that somehow, there’s some telepathic sibling communication that clues her in, because he knows himself well enough to know he’ll never actually ask.

-

David feels out of orbit, standing aimlessly in the living room while Patrick rattles through the silverware drawer.

“I got a little dessert too,” he says when he strides back over with two forks. “Your favorites. The tiramisu, freshly thawed. Apple pie right from the box.” 

“Mm. No weak, lukewarm coffee to go with?” He’s surprised he has the countenance to joke right now. It kind of balms his anxiety, but Patrick laughs unawares.

There’s a weird silence, which makes David wonder if he could possibly make it through this night mentally intact, until Patrick speaks again.

“Before we eat, uh...I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Before? David glances down at their dinner, spread over the coffee table on a bed of styrofoam. There was a reason why he asked for two orders of fries, and it mostly involved the fact that he thought he'd be stuffing his face with them in the passenger seat of Stevie’s car within the next half hour.

“Um.” His voice comes out hoarse. “Ok then.”

“I think maybe we should...sit.” 

“Sure.”

Patrick takes a seat on the sofa and motions to the spot beside him. David follows suit, drums his fingers on his thighs.

He hopes he’s doing a good job at hiding himself, under Patrick’s knowing gaze that so often knows exactly how to read him. He thinks he’s gotten plenty of practice over the years, but somehow, unfortunately or not, it never worked with this man.

Patrick’s watching with a wide, honest gaze, like he’s just on the edge of saying something. He takes a breath and looks away. 

David’s nose starts to prickle. He closes his eyes. 

“When I first moved here,” Patrick starts, voice raw, “things hadn’t really been the best. I was a little let down in a lot of areas. Couldn’t get into grad school. Just ended a relationship.” 

He pauses and takes a shaking breath.

David’s throat burns.

“I went from working for a mid-level accounting firm to working and living at a tax-office-photography-studio.” Patrick tries a little smile, but David’s too busy worrying his lip to notice the joke.

“And then this guy comes along and...he’s really smart and resilient and creative and...totally his own person. He had this really intriguing business idea, and I don’t know, I just...I never thought I believed in love at first sight, but that’s kinda what it was. Nothing in my life had felt entirely right until I met this guy. And he turned out to be a really...challenging business partner.”

David plants a hand to the cushion, head swimming.

“A really...perfect sort of challenge. Anyway, I took him out for a hike, showed him the place I used to stop and think about...us. And maybe none of it went to plan, but I had wanted to…”

David waves a hand frantically, throat so tight it was almost suffocating. “I really appreciate this recap, but can we go ahead and get this over with?” 

He twists his fingers together, squeezing his eyes shut to push back a sob.

“Babe…” Patrick touches his arm, and he can’t take it anymore.

“Ok, why are you drawing this out?” He lifts the back of his hand to eyes, a habit—because something in his psyche refuses to cry in these moments, a facade he’s built up to distance himself from really feeling it. At least in the face of it. His hands tremble as he punctuates his next words.

“I don’t get it. Why is this something no one can ever seem to just come out and say? No one can ever just...say they’re done.”

But there are tears. Big hot tears.

He feels Patrick’s thumb brush over the cashmere of his sweater.

That gaze is back on him.

“David...honey, did you think…no...No, no, no.”

He tries,  _ really tries _ to hold it all in but it’s too much. Means too much, hurts too much. A big hiccuping sob breaks his lips and he doesn’t even have the mental space to be embarrassed about it.

Patrick’s hands wrap over his, soft and warm.

“David…”

A hand finds his cheek and he has no choice but to look up, eye to eye with the softest, most attentive gaze he’s ever had.

“David, I…” A flash of tears in the lamplight. “I want to marry you. I want to live life with you. I want to...make a promise with you.”

Another hiccup. “No, you...”

Patrick leans a little closer, holds his gaze, his expression both certain and soft.

“David Rose. Will you marry me?”

The room stills for just a moment. Both of them hold their breath, maybe each waiting to see if the spell breaks.

It doesn’t.

Everything remains just as it is in Patrick’s drab little studio apartment. Coats laid together over the arm of the sofa. David’s little jar of eye cream next to Patrick’s copy of  _ 7 Habits of Highly Effective People  _ on the nightstand. Take out going cold on the coffee table. It all stays.

Patrick stays.

A watery laugh bubbles up finally, breaking the silence, and Patrick smiles fondly.

“Oh, fuck…” David wipes at his eyes.

Patrick’s hand finds his knee, squeezes, and then he’s laughing too. “I love you,” he says, like it follows something charming.

David can’t do anything else but look up at him, even through his tears, bask in the way this man looks at him like he should be wearing a goddamn crown, and take a steadying breath. 

“You’re serious?”

“Like a heart attack.”

David sways forward a little and find his forehead pressed to Patrick’s. “A panic attack…”

“What?”

“Nevermind,” he says, still laughing wet and weary.

He has to explain. 

“You didn’t propose at the picnic, I thought you finally decided...decided you’d had enough.”

“Not possible,” Patrick rasped, pulling back to look at him full on, visibly working to hold back his own emotion. 

He lets out a heavy sigh, and blinks up to the ceiling, the worry of the past thirty six hours bleeding off slow but an easy sort of relief taking its place.

He hears Patrick clear his throat. “So you found the rings?”

David gives a weepy, scheming smile. “I didn’t really get a good look.”

“Now you won’t be surprised.” Patrick’s fingers brush his arm again.

“Oh believe me, they’re perfect, and all of this enough surprise to hold me over til Alexis’s pregnancy announcement.”

Patrick huffs a laugh. 

“I love you too,” David says, routing the conversation back, and shakes his head. “I can’t…I can’t believe how much I love you. I’m sorry I peeked at the rings and didn’t say anything. I’m sorry I doubted you and I’m sorry I panicked.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I can see how you would have taken my actions to mean… well… what you thought it meant. After everything that happened, I just lost my courage. In that moment, I was thinking maybe you’d want something...different. Something you’d enjoy more. I wanted it to be perfect David. You deserve perfect."

David’s still deciding on crying or laughing. 

“Well, to whatever degree I feel that, I know that having you in my life has been one of the sweetest experiences…”

If he isn’t choked up enough, his mind doubles down by conjuring up what his dad had said the night before. This town, these people had come at just the right time. They’re exactly what they needed. What they had missed. They’re weird and obnoxious and disgusting, but they’re genuine.

Patrick’s the best of all of them.

“So it’s a yes,” he manages, through it all. “Of course it’s a yes.”

Patrick’s blush is clear, even in the dim light. He reaches across David to pull the ring box from behind a throw pillow, and there they are again, glowing in the lamplight. Tangible symbols of just how much he was loved. How much he was understood and seen. 

When Patrick has set the last ring into place, and David curls his fingers around his, he realizes there’s a word for this feeling. This change that’s been slowly crowding in on him since they unloaded their bags into the motel parking lot. Since he took a number a Ray’s place. Since a shopkeeper’s bell and Stevie’s laugh and Patrick’s steady voice and Alexis’s unantipcated wisdom have sountracked his life.

It feels like home. 


End file.
